The Day Italy lost it
by PastaandPotatoes
Summary: What happens when the Allies threaten to kill Germany? Yeah. Italy looses it.


It was raining, the water puddle on the ground, turning it to mud. Germany and Italy ran after the Allies, who had kidnapped Prussia, and were planning on killing him. Italy had learned this, and had run to tell Germany, and now they were running through the mud, praying to get there in time.

"This is all my fault." The brunette cried. "If I hadn't joined them none of this would have happened." Which was true, but Germany found he wasn't mad, which surprised him, after all the Italian had stabbed him in the back, joined the Allies, and told them where Prussia was hiding. Yet he wasn't mad. Not even close. "Here They're here." Italy pointed to a house. "Come on then!" And the two ran towards the building, busted down the door, and ran inside. "This way." Italy whispered, leading him down a dark hallway.

"How do you know where they are?" Germany inquired.

"I overheard them talking."

"Oh." That had made sense, at the time.

"In this room." A door was pulled open, and Germany walked inside, only to have it closed on him from the outside.

"Italy?" He asked.

"I'm sorry. They-they ha-have Romano. I-I have to." Was Italy…crying?

"Italy. Let me out and I'll help you save Romano."

"There will be no letting you out." America said from the shadows in the dark corner of the room. "You don't deserve to be nation." Germany saw him pick up a gun and point it at his head.

"Aaah!" Italy screamed from the other side of the door.

"Italy?" Why was he so worried about the backstabber? The door opened, and Russia was standing there, his hand covering the Italian's mouth, a gun pointed at Italy's head, with Britain, China, and France behind him, all pointing guns at Germany.

"Bastards." Germany growled. "Let Italy go, and you can have me." Italy looked up at him with his big eyes, and shook his head no fearfully.

"You really think you can negotiate when we have the two of you right where we want you?" America asked. "Oh no. We plan on killing you. We'll let Italy go, but you and Prussia are goners."

Suddenly Russia let go of Italy in alarm, giving Italy the opportunity to kick him in the nuts, steal his gun, pounce on China, steal his gun, and Place guns on either side of the Asian's head. Leaving everyone in shock as Russia cradled his bleeding hand.

"That wasn't part of the plan." Italy said. "Let them go or I'll shoot his brains all over the place." This wasn't the-carefree-pasta-loving-idiot-who-cant-do-anythi ng-always-needs-help-Italy that Germany knew, this was a different, more dangerous Italy. And it scared the German to think that the Italy he knew was capable of threatening to kill one of his former friends.

"Fine." Russia was the first to find his voice. "Let china go and we'll let Romano go."

"No. Not just Romano. Also Germany and Prussia."

"No way!" America cut in. "We'll give you Romano back. Germany and Prussia stay here." After that sentence Italy glared at the American. It wasn't a normal I'm-angry-at-you glare. No, it was the glare of an enraged psychopath. The glare of someone willing to color walls with the blood of innocents. And it scared everybody.

"Let. Them. All. Go." He said slowly, and during a flash of lightning, Germany saw Italy's curl was mangled-looking, and not right.

"Italy." France stepped forwards.

"NO MOVING!" He screeched as he used one of the guns to shoot his big brother in the chest. China was now crying softly, and Russia was slowlyyyy reaching for his pipe, hidden under his coat. America hadn't moved, gun still directed at Germany. "America, if you don't put that gun down right now I WILL KILL EACH AND EVERYONE OF YOU!" He screamed. Pointing one of the guns at Britain, who had abandoned his post to help the Frenchman.

"Fine. I'll let them out." America said, defeated. "But first." BANG! Germany didn't know what had happened. One minute he was standing there, the next, his shirt was red and a pain erupted in his chest.

"GERMANY!" Italy screamed again, but this time it wasn't an inhuman hateful screech, it was the kind of scream a child screams when his pet dog is run over by a car.

BANG! BANG! Another bullet pierced his leg, another in his shoulder. "GO TO HELL!" Italy yelled, shooting America in the chest and the arm. Sending him to the ground. Russia snuck up on him and cracked the Italian on the head with his pipe while he was preoccupied, and he fell to the ground, but not before shooting China in the chest. Italy sent his gun in Germany's direction before his head was hit again by Russia, who readied for what would surely be the final hit, but Germany shot him through the side countless times until he two, fell. Meanwhile America, was slowly crawling to where Germany lay, unnoticed by the German who was busy trying to make sure neither Russia nor China touched Italy.

Italy opened his groggy eyes, in time to see Germany attacked by a biting and clawing America, who attacked him viscously. Italy also noticed Britain pointing his gun in Germany's direction. Without thinking, the brunette forced himself to stand, and blocked his friend from the Brit's bullet, getting himself shot in the shoulder. And he still stood there, protecting his friend. Another bullet pierced his arm, and his knee, his chest, but then he started to walk forwards, until he had his hand over the barrel of Britain's gun.

"What kind of demon are you?" He asked, blowing a hole in the nation's hand. He didn't even notice.

"The worst kind." Italy smiled as he head butted the blonde, sending him flying. With the hand he hadn't used to block Britain's gun with, he picked up France's stray gun, and pointed it at America, who was still viscously attacking Germany. BANG! A bullet whizzed through the air, and went through the American's side with Switzerland-like precision. "Get off." The Italian said calmly."Get off of Germany." Looking up, Germany saw Italy, and wondered how he was still alive, much less how he was walking. Quietly he picked up America, and kicked him in the temple, sending him flying against a wall.

"Italy?" Germany asked from his spot on the ground. "Are you okay?" Italy nodded, though he wasn't. His head was gushing blood, so was his arm, his hand, blood was oozing out of his chest and shoulder, and his legs were bleeding.

"I'll call for help." The Italian pulled out his cell phone, and dialed 911, but that was all he could go, because as soon as the lady said "911 what's your emergency?" He crumpled to the ground, and Germany had to lurch forward and grab him before he hit his head on the hard floor. There he waited until the paramedics arrived. When they got there, they had a lot of questions, like "What happened?" And "Are you okay?" And "Did you do this?" The German didn't respond as he was hauled onto an ambulance and fell asleep.

"West. West? Oh god West don't be dead!" The voice of Prussia pulled Germany out of his sleep and into the real world, where he was hit by waves of pain from his wounds. Looking around he saw that he was in a hospital, in a bed, with Prussia standing near him. "You're awake!" Prussia yelled. "Hungary! He's finally awake!"

"I can see that. Are you alright?"

"Fine." Germany said quietly, remembering the events that had taken place.

"What happened in there? No one else will say."

"Italy." Was all Prussia was getting out of him. "Where's Italy?"

"He's not awake yet." Hungary said quietly.

"Where is he?" Germany demanded, trying to sit up.

"Oh no. You're staying there." Prussia ordered. "He's currently getting operated on. They thought they fixed everything, but apparently they didn't, or something."

"And how are you here? Didn't the Allies kidnap you?"

"Yes. And Romano." Prussia nodded. "But when the police and everybody came they found us."

"Did anybody die?" Sure, the blonde hated them all, but he didn't really want any of them dead.

"No. Everybody's going to be fine, except maybe Italy."

"What does that mean?" Germany raised his voice.

"West," Prussia said in a quiet voice. "What happened back there?" The blonde let out a long breathe, and told his brother and Hungary what had happened. How Italy had betrayed him, and went almost…demonic. How he had an evil look in his eye and how he was walking when he shouldn't have been able to.

To all of this, Hungary merely nodded. "He did that, once before." She said quietly. "When Austria and I told him that Holy Roman Empire was dead, he was the cutest little thing, but hearing that set him off. He became like a wild animal, clawing at us, biting us, and he had this evil look in his eyes. We finally had to drug him, and when he awoke, he claimed he had no memory of attacking us, just that he and heard us say Holy Rome was dead and then everything went black. He was perfectly normal after that, though and went back to being his cute little self. Like it had never happened."

"So you think he forgot about everything?" Germany asked. Hungary nodded. "And I think it would be best to let him forget, don't you think?" Germany nodded.

A nurse rolled a body past, covered in a sheet. "He flat lined." She told them when she noticed them staring.

"What was his name?" Prussia asked.

"Um…." She looked at her papers, and those few seconds, the seconds it took her to find the name, were the most agonizing seconds in Germany's life. "Frederick Bevens."

"Thank god." Hungary whispered. After the nurse was gone, a doctor stuck his head inside the room.

"Yeah?" Prussia asked. The doctor beckoned him outside, so he followed. They talked, voices loud enough to hear, but to quite to make out what they were saying.

"What did he say?" Germany asked.

"Italy's going to be fine." Prussia said with a smile. "The second operation was a success. They're keeping him there overnight just to be sure, but he'll be your hospital-roommate tomorrow."


End file.
